Posted in New Work, Poetry

Flight School

Clock always ticking
but I can’t catch the
rhythm in its
tempos,

I’m always just a little off.

Hours keep hostages;
Small cells into which are squeezed
essential bits of life.

But I don’t like the constraints;
[To be] ensnared in eternal judgment
by encroachments
of minute captivity
where there are always seconds…

Perpetual measures, calculated waste.

If time binds us,
then how too
can it leave us behind?

Freedom is timeless,
yet, time is priceless.
And still, flight is precious –
liberation.
I’m justย learning to fly.

 

 

20 December 2019

Author:

Curating Personal Year 9. Wife and mom of 3. Writer. Zentrovert. Aspiring Engineer. Resident Badass.

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.